


Neutral Stance

by Jemsquash



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Genderswap, Historical, Look just assume everyone who took part in the Napoleonic Wars is going to show up, Napoleonic Wars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-13 23:38:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemsquash/pseuds/Jemsquash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1798 and the French Republic has come to the Swiss Federation's aid. At least, that's how France sees things. The Helvetic Republic sees it as an provoked invasion, illegal occupation and blatant violation of her neutrality. And as soon as her people get organised she will demonstrate her rage accordingly. Until then she will endure as she always has, stoically and with much passive aggression.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **neutral** /’nju:tr(ǝ)l/ -adj. **1** not supporting either of two opposing sides, impartial. **2** belonging to a neutral State etc. (neutral ships). **3** indistinct, vague, indeterminate. **4** (of a gear) in which the engine is disconnected from the driven parts. **5** (of colours) not strong or positive; grey or beige. **6** Chem. neither acid nor alkaline. **7** Electr. neither positive nor negative. 8 Biol. sexually undeveloped; asexual. □ **neutrality** /-‘trælɪtɪ/ n. [Latin neutralis of neuter gender]
> 
> **stance** /sts:ns, stæns/ n. **1** standpoint; attitude **2** attitude or position of the body, esp. when deliberately adopted **3** a ledge or foothold on which a belay can be secured [Italian/French stanza standing place]
> 
>  
> 
> [Switzerland was known as the Swiss Confederacy from the 14th century to 1798, when it changed abruptly to the Helvetic Republic, Helvetica for short. Her human name is Vreni Zwingli.]

**_22 March 1798, Zurich_ **

It is the way of territories when first conquered to act rashly. Ancient cultures had been known to spit and curse at their smug new overlords, who were younger but claimed to be better. Newly formed nations would take to their heels and hide in their wildernesses, not knowing much yet but knowing instinctively that they were on the wrong side of colonization. 

But the Helvetic Republic, who last week had been the Swiss Confederation, did not spit and curse at the French Republic, though it was tempting. Nor did she take supplies and hide in the nearest forest. She was of Europe and knew how to act dignified in the face of invaders.

“It’s alright, _mon trognon_.” Cooed the French Republic through the bedroom door as Helvetica continued her slow packing. “I know about you and your anxiety attacks; I know you didn't knock me into the lake on purpose.” Helvetica ignored her unwanted intruder and considered the last item in her sparse cupboard. The dress was as suitable as she could find for her sensibilities, plain and decent with plenty of space to put important things like knives and papers and her Bible when she wore it to church. Church was the only place she ever wore it, really.

She closed the cupboard, dress still on its hanger within. She was, no matter what France and her ungrateful people might say, under occupation and she would dress in nothing but her uniform unless forced.

Helvetica opened the door, stepped out of reach of France as he tried to take her bag and continued to the kitchen. There was little food in the larder still edible as Helvetica had not been home in months. She had been too busy, rushing from crises to crises as the French invaded and her troops resisted and her people reacted.

Even before France’s army arrived on her borders, the Swiss Confederation had been busy. Her people had been at odds with each other long before France’s revolution had occurred. Revolts were nothing new to the Swiss Confederation. She had been enduring political and social unrest for years. But the revolution had escalated everything, invigorating the radicals, terrifying the conservatives and giving their Nation a literal splitting headache.

Vreni Zwingli would, to the end of her days, maintain that if France had not stuck his nose into her business, then matters would have eventually settled. Valais, Porrentry, St Gallen and all the other would-be republics would have calmed down and been more open to negation with the feudal cantons. A compromise could have been reached. And sometimes she even believed herself when she said it.

But France _had_ become involved, and her people, confused and disorientated, had been caught out. There had been resistance to the invasion, yes, but not nearly as much as she should have been capable of, not nearly enough to win. Her Diet had crumbled, calls to arms ignored and Bern had been surrounded. They had surrendered. For now, the forest cantons whispered in her ear, drowning out the celebrating pro-revolutionists and the ache of annexed territory. We have given way for now, whispered the Catholics, the nobles and the traditionalists.

The Helvetic Republic had been formed by foreign powers and its constitution fitted unnaturally on her skin. There was room for her to maneuver and one day, to maybe break free. For now she would endure occupation, gracelessly.

“If you have nothing else to take we shall leave now,” France interrupted her thoughts loudly. It had taken considerable effort to ignore him in the first place, his presence even more overwhelming and oppressive than usual. His uniform of pristine white and blue offended her decent green uniform, as did his cloying perfume of power and wine. At least his quick dip in the lake had washed away his hat.

Helvetica glanced as the open door of her home and the waiting carriage. Suddenly the nerves she had been suppressing resurfaced. “I think I should remain here.” She said dropping her bag to the floor. “There’s still a lot to sort out here, documents to go over, tribu- taxes to organize.” She did not stutter. She did not.

France let out a long, deep sigh, as if he had any right to be put out. “You really need to grow up, Vreni.” he said as he picked up her bag. “Timid little Nations that can’t leave their own territory without crying never get anywhere in life or love.”

 _I don’t want to go anywhere._ Said the part of Vreni that was just her. _I don’t want to leave my land and my people for anything. Nothing but necessity has ever made me leave and never willingly. All the love I’ve ever gotten was from my people, I shouldn’t need any more than that. ___

__“Now be sensible,” France said, giving her a reassuring smile. “There’s no reason for you to feel homesick in Paris. So many of your people have signed up to join the army, you’ll never be completely alone. And we’re taking those lovely horses of yours and the bears from Bern. It’ll feel like you never left home!”_ _

__Helvetica looked at the republic in disgust, sure he was mocking her. The thought of her shy Einsiedler horses taken from their quiet fields, Bern without its namesake and her boys dying once again in another country’s name. That thought killed her nerves in a blinding fit of anger that overran any other emotion she held._ _

__She let out one soft, incoherent curse at a still smiling France, snatched her bag from his lose grip and stormed to the carriage. She ignored the waiting footman, stomped up the stair and flung herself into the corner. Her bag she placed next to her, in case France had any thoughts on sitting next to her._ _

__“Vreni, dear, I need the keys to lock up your lovely home.”_ _

__She pulled her set of large iron keys from her belt and flung them out of the carriage. From the exclamation of pain she heard, they had made contact with France’s head. Good. It was not as if France would have let her keep them in any case. Occupied Nations did not need their own homes when their overlords had spare rooms to rent._ _

__Helvetica sat and seethed as France locked up her neat little cottage, spoke reassuringly to his driver and footman and entered the carriage as well. He prudently sat on the opposite end of the compartment, away from her glare._ _

__The carriage started to move, and Helvetica clutched the side and kept her glare up. She did not look out at the view, of her home slowly getting smaller as they left it behind. Soon they would leave Zurich, the mountains and her entire land behind, for Paris. She suppressed a shudder. She had not been in Paris since 1790 and she was sure the smell had not improved._ _

__“You are very ungrateful, you must realize.” Said France after a few minutes of silence, “I could have made an example of you in front of the town officials. I could have brought together the entire leadership of the republic, just to watch you leave in my arms.”_ _

__“But you didn't have the time.” Said Helvetica blandly, “The Egyptian invasion leaves in less than a month.” She was fast losing her hold on her rage, and her emotions beneath it were not ones she would ever choose to share with France. Distraction was her only option._ _

__“Expedition,” corrected France. “It’s not an invasion. Our aim is merely to fortify and study Egypt while establishing relationships with other countries.” His masculine face was at odds with the innocent boyish look he tried to assume._ _

__“And should England have a problem with it?” Helvetica asked him artlessly._ _

__“Well.” An evil smirk, much more suited for his face, appeared. “We’ll just have to deal with him, won’t we?”_ _

__“We?”_ _

__“Myself and Napoleon, of course.” Francis drifted off, thoughts on his beloved leader occupying his mind fully. It was always so with the truly great, drawing their Nation’s attention and devotion wholly, for better or worse. Helvetica held her silence and did her best not to long for Nikolas, or any of her past greats, who could have stopped her turmoil before France had had a chance to invade. It was with the bittersweet image of them uniting her people and leading them back to sanity and neutrality that she fell asleep, months of strain taking their toll._ _

__France did not wake her or move her into a more comfortable position. He knew from experience that it was best she were unconscious when they left her lands. She always cried when the mountains moved out of sight._ _

___._  
.  
. 

__Time past and miles were devoured. Horses, drivers and footmen were exchanged for fresh ones. The carriage and its occupants did not stop for long. The French Republic wanted to be home as soon as possible and the Helvetic Republic slept on, preferring her dreams to reality._ _

__Her dream centered around a sunny meadow, a full stomach and a happy companion that clumsily put flowers into her braids, while she lay on her back and simply existed. No turmoil lurked at the back of her mind, no arguments, no headache. Her people were born and lived and died in ordered measures, Ostarrîchi’s people were near but too far for any competition over food or space to occur. Tranquility reigned._ _

__Sighing Ostarrîchi gave up on the flowers and untied her braids, carefully running his hands through her long hair. It felt nice; her eastern neighbor was good at small delicate tasks, though essential tasks, such as hunting and carving eluded him._ _

__Ostarrîchi looked down at her, smile tugging at his sweet face. Their eyes echoed the colours around them, fresh grass green under deep blue. And she felt so content with the world that she sat up and turned back to face him, offering her open arms in a rare gesture of affection._ _

__Ostarrîchi knew better than to question such an opportunity and happily snuggled against her, his small body fitting neatly against her slightly bigger frame. She kissed his soft cheek and smelt stone and wax and ink: very dry scents for such a young territory, she thought fondly, closing her eyes._ _

__Everything changed in a sickeningly slow lurch, and then the Swiss Confederation was being held in the tight embrace of the duchy of Austria, her old farming clothes staining his Habsburg finery. “Please, just stay with me Vreni.” He whispered into her hair, now cropped and short. “We’ll talk to our leaders, come to some agreement, work out a compromise, just stay by my side!”_ _

__(At the back of her mind, a voice nagged her that this was not how the past had happened. When Roderich said those words, they were younger, he begging her to go with him to his new capital. He had never held her like this, tenderly, protectively.)_ _

_No one has ever protected me._ She thought bitterly to herself. _Not without a price._

__“You don’t need me.” She told him harshly, pulling away from his face. “I have certainly never needed you.”_ _

__And then there’s a soft mouth on her own, warm and wet and Vreni did nothing to stop it. She rested passively in his arms and let him do as he wanted. He tasted of wine and roses and blood…_ _

__

__Helvetica opened her eyes to find Francis bent over her, gently trying to coax her tongue to respond to his. Sleep and dreams flashed away instantly._ _

__Vreni remained limp in his embrace, not reacting with the French impulse to pull him closer and enthusiastically respond, or with the German impulse to bring her knee up firmly to reject of his advances. Neutral action seemed best, as always. She did however, indulge in the Italian impulse to scream curses and gibber a bit, in the safety of her mind._ _

Eventually Francis pulled back, clicking his skilled tongue in disappointment. “So cold _mon trognon_?” he asked, brushing unruly hair from her forehead to behind her reddening ear. 

__“I do not engage in…” Vreni’s voice dripped with scorn, “…familiarities with my overlords.” She sat up into a less compromising position and ran a quick hand from face to chest to belt and knife. Francis believed in free love, freely offered and freely given. He had always respected a person’s decision to decline his romantic offers, as long as they were clearly rejected with absolutely no room for misinterpretation. But being a conquering Empire, and France was fast becoming one no matter what republic styling he gave himself, changed how a Nation viewed things. She brushed the fading memory of her dream aside; she had no time to spare for wistful, and incorrect, memories._ _

__Francis moved back into his seat and Vreni’s shaky hand told her all her buttons were still done and her knife still rested in her knotted belt. Francis still held some standards, it seemed. He gave her a sunny smile, unaware of her discomfort. “It’ll be so nice to have Swiss regiments in the army again. Your people are so stout when it comes to war.”_ _

Vreni was too on edge to give a sharp retort on what had happened to the last Swiss Guards that served France, massacred while defending his king. She merely sat in silence and stewed as Francis chatted gaily on, about his new home she would live in ( _for now_ her people whispered), the wonderful new benefits of centralized government she would enjoy ( _for now_ her people whispered) and the lovely new dress styles that would suit her perfectly ( _not ever_ she told herself). 

And that was how the French Republic and Helvetic Republic entered Paris. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes
> 
> 1\. Saint Nikolaus of Flüe was a hermit who in the 14th Century mediated between rural cantons and the cities that wanted to join the Confederation, averting civil war.
> 
> 2\. mon trognon: literally my apple core, similar to my cutie pie.
> 
> 3\. From what I understand the Swiss Confederation was already a hot bed of riots and insurrections before the French Revolution even started. The industrial revolution and enlightenment meant people were making more money and thinking deep thoughts, but the political system remained conservative and feudalist.  
> When the French Revolution was successful, everything was kicked into overdrive and many cantons had (relatively) bloodless revolutions of their own. While France skimmed around the edges annexing the odd outlying territory and biding it’s time.  
> Then Vaud asked for France’s help in gaining independence from Bern. By the time the French army got there Vaud had already been declared a republic… But France went ahead and invaded Bern anyway, took over the centuries old confederation and turned the whole Swiss Confederation into a republic. The Swiss were too disjointed to put up a proper fight. Some were actually happy about the new leadership, some did not think much would change and some were expecting help form a certain neighboring Duchy… Austria that was your cue…


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Name Clarification:  
> Nine Providences will one day be Belgium. Her human name is Emma  
> The Batavian Republic will one day be the Netherlands.  
> Senegal is Senegal. His human name is Seckou.  
> The Parthenopean Republic was the Kingdom of Sicily and will one day be South Italy. Her human name is Letizia.  
> Isle de France will one day be Mauritius.  
> Saint-Domingue will one day be Haiti. And he is awesome.  
> Poland does not technically exist at this point in time. She and her people are very pissed off about it. Her human name is Felicja.

**Paris, 5 March 1799**

Helvetica smiled absentmindedly and accepted the plate of food that Senegal offered. They were the only two of the household awake at that hour. Senegal had woken early for Salah and Helvetica had been awake for hours, staring into space and reaching out her senses to her people back at home. 

There had been a few altercations in her lands in the past year, as the French began to demand more supplies and tribute and her people began to really see things as they were: the Helvetic Republic was a country occupied by foreign powers. Uprisings had been swiftly put down and harshly punished.

A bigger fight was in the works. Helvetica could feel it as her leaders, former and current, spoke; as farmers hid weapons and as soldiers put on newly outlawed uniforms. Helvetica would be needed at home soon. Already Paris seemed too crowded, too full and unnatural.

Something crunched unexpectedly in her mouth; she started out of her thoughts and looked at the bagel in surprise.

“Peanuts,” explained Senegal with a shrug, focusing on cutting open a mango.

Helvetica continued chewing. One of the many complications a house full of Nations faced was food, and the different tastes each one knew and craved. The lengths some Nations went to in order to get their hands on national dishes were ridiculous. The mango Senegal was splitting in half had cost him far more than Vreni had ever paid for a fruit, even one shipped from across an ocean. 

Of course she really did not have any right to judge considering Vreni had accidentally discovered most of the African colonies were lactose intolerant by insisting on cooking cheese-rich dishes and trying to share. And she and the Nine Providences had had a running banter over their budding chocolate industries before the Peasant’s War had meant Emma returned home to support her people.

The Nine Providences had returned to France’s town house in quiet shock, half carried by her little brother. Luxemburg’s uprising had gone just as bad as the Flanders’s. It was a sobering reminder that, even if France could not be in many places at once, his armies could.

 _But we’ll be fighting on my territory._ Helvetica thought, adding milk to her coffee. _If enough of the cantons join together, and Napoleon himself doesn’t lead the French, we have a chance…_

Again she was drawn out of her thoughts, this time by Senegal’s dark face growing unnaturally pale. His Adam’s apple jumped erratically as he swallowed. 

“Seckou?” She asked rising to her feet hesitantly. If there was something wrong with his land there wasn’t anything she could do.

An incoherent sentence was chocked out, as Senegal reverted back to one of his own languages. Helvetica frantically compared it to her own language knowledge and came up with nothing. She knew no languages from Africa, save trading slang used by merchants. 

Seeing her incomprehension Senegal spoke in French. “France. He comes.” He hurried out of the kitchen. Helvetica followed him, turning her senses towards the irritating pressure in her mind that was France. And yes, there was France’s presence on the outskirts of Paris, months before he was expected back.

Senegal and Helvetica went directly to the living quarters of the house and the wings where the Republics and occupied colonies resided. Without needing to consult Helvetica turned down one wing of bedrooms while Senegal continued to the next.

“Wake up!” She called, banging on bedroom doors. “Get up and get dressed! Francis is back!”

Sleepy mutters quickly turned into startled curses as the rest of the French territories grasped what was going on and guilty consciousness seized their hearts. On not hearing a reply, Helvetica opened Guadeloupe’s door and saw her crouched by a dying fire trying to burn documents.

Helvetica backed out of the room “I… didn’t see anything.” 

Guadeloupe nodded and turned back to the fire, blowing gently on it.

Discretion assured, Helvetica arrived at her own door and entered, locking it behind her. France had a key to everyone’s door, but locking the door would buy her more time.

Logically she knew she was overreacting. That they had plenty of time before France arrived and it was not as if he would start a room search the minute he walked in. But it was better to be over cautious than be caught.

Under her washstand, a floorboard she had spent hours loosening lifted to reveal a pile of letters. Vreni picked them up and held them close. Some of them were from home, from priests and nobles and merchants. She could almost swear they held the smell of clean air and open space, something she could not find in Paris. And some were from England, containing the kind words and inspiring promises. Each set of letters were equally dangerous. 

Putting them down she reached into the gap and pulled out a loose brick from the bottom, hidden from view and searching fingers unless they knew exactly what to look for. The letters fitted into the second hiding space, the brick went back into its original place and Vreni looked for a decoy to put on top.

Reluctantly she pulled out an old flag she had hidden in the side of her bed. She had been given it by one of her own soldiers, before he had left with the Egypt expedition. It was an old design of the Schwyz battle flag, one of the many flags her people used. It had been comforting to look at and remember past battles she had fought and won. France had looked at her as an equal then, a warrior to be trusted, not a territory to be pushed and chivied into obedience. 

With a sigh she folded the fading red linen, the white cross yellow with age. It only just fitted under the floorboard. 

After that all that was left was to neaten her already immaculate room, put on her dress uniform and go back to the kitchen and clean. Around her other Nations gathered and left in groups, united for once in nerves, be they from anticipation or from dread. The Helvetic Republic felt strangely divorced from the chaos, more concerned with the organizing going on in her mind and far away, in a land she once thought unconquerable.

.  
.  
.

At midday France’s travel worn carriage arrived at the front gate and a group of weary travelers disembarked; with one annoyingly happy French Republic.

The occupants of France’s house had lined up at the front door, like servants welcoming their master home. Some of the male nations wore uniforms, others defiant French civvies, national pride hinted at with hats and belts and weapons. The other female nations wore their best, absolutely-not-English-muslin-or-black-market- dresses. The Helvetic Republic wore the uniform of a Light Cavalry Officer, so perfect and correct it would make any fastidious leader burst with pride. She glanced at Guadeloupe’s bright head scarf, same shade as her dress but still a pointed deviation from French dress. Defiance could come in many forms.

The Nine Providences gave a soft sigh, dressed in her most childish dress. Apparently this was her coping mechanism for dealing with France. France loved little children, in a completely different way to how he loved adults. Hopefully it would stave off the worst of his wrath.

Helvetica thought about sighing herself when she recognized the two females among the group; one dressed as nobility and the other in a Gunner uniform.

Poland’s uniform was a bit travel worn, her czapka decked with revolution rosettes and her boots did not look regulation. But the sight of her smile of confidence and her well-worn lance drove a shard of jealously into Helvetica’s heart. Why hadn’t she been allowed to go to Egypt? Why didn’t she get to fight with her men? Her logical voice pointed out that she did not really want to support France; Egypt was further from home than she had ever been before and she wouldn’t have been paid to fight anyway. 

The younger girl’s beautiful green dress and artfully styled auburn hair did nothing to lessen the scowl she wore. Letizia Vargas, granddaughter to the Great Roman Empire, formally the Kingdom of Sicily but recently renamed the Parthenopean Republic, was to live with them. Clearly she was not happy about Rome being pried out of her grasping fingers and to be back under occupation.

France walked ahead of the other arrivals, unburdened by luggage. His spoils of war had legs.

“ _Mon petites_.” He greeted, opening his arms to his household, ignoring the fact that some of them were just as old as him. Only Martinique took the invitation, running into his embrace with a large smile.

Helvetica heard Saint Lucia’s sniff of disapproval from further down the line. The touching scene continued as the two gabbled to each other in a Creole dialect she did not understand. Her attention was drawn to one of the newcomers’ tall figure, clay pipe clutched in his ungloved, scarred hands. The Batavian Republic’s shoulders were tense and the Nine Providences clutched at her dress. Luxemburg held onto her arm, one foot scrapping patterns in the dirt. The three siblings looked at each other covertly, avoiding each’s direct gaze.

France broke off from his talk with Martinique to look at the rest of his waiting client states. An air of danger, one that had always been there under everything else, grew thicker as _liberté_ blue eyes ran up and down the line, making Helvetica revert to a soldier’s stance of attention. 

Still smiling, the French Republic gently guided Martinique back to his place in the line and stood back, standing at his full height. “Some of my loves are missing. I wanted to introduce everyone to their new family members.”

Behind him, Malta’s face didn’t change an iota, while the Parthenopean Republic and the Batavian Republic’s scowls deepened. Poland’s smile remained set on her face, as bright and as false as any grin she had borne since her final partition.

“Where” asked France calmly, “is Seychelles?” 

Réunion took a deep breath and spoke up. “She’s with her people. You gave her leave to go…” He trailed off at France’s slim smile.

“And Isle de France?”

“He went to be with his people as well. He had papers.” Réunion defended his neighbour.

“And Saint-Domingue?”

No one spoke. No one even breathed. Throughout his queries, France had remained placid, friendly even. No one was fooled by his act. Underneath his happy smile lurked something else, which no one wanted to draw the attention of.

The silence proved too much for one of the younger territories. Saint Martin opened his mouth to speak. Helvetica saw Batavia’s eyes widen in warning, trying to signal to the former Dutch colony not to say anything. And for some inexplicable reason Vreni came to the rescue.

“You know where he is.” She said shortly, meeting France’s gaze for the first time that day. “He’s with his people, at home. Fighting.”

For an instant France’s eyes changed, and Helvetica knew Francis had left entirely and the French Republic was in full control. 

“Fighting.” His voice was velvet soft, like the petals of a rose, before its thorns dug into skin. “Rebelling,” Soft like his glove brushing against Vreni’s cheek. “Why would such a good boy rebel, _mon trognon_?”

“Because his people will it,” around her she heard the others edging away slowly, but she could not pull her eyes away from France’s gaze or from his fingers circling her lips.

“Because his people will it,” the French Republic pulled her by the chin, so close she felt his breath on her face. “And what have I been fighting for, if not for the will of the people?”

Abruptly Vreni was shoved back, out of the way as the French Republic reached out and gripped the Nine Providences’ shoulder, pulling her roughly. “I fight wars for your freedom and you turn and spit in my face.” His gloved hands dug into her lightly clothed skin.

Luxemburg gave a cry as Emma used her free arm to push him away to safety. 

“Everything I do is for the good of our people,” said France, gesturing dramatically to everyone with one hand, still clenching the Nine Providence’s shoulder with the other. “My people spill their blood so we can all be free from tyranny and despots. Yet I am met with betrayal and ungratefulness at every turn. Every turn.” His face took on a mournful façade. Emma’s face was white with pain. 

Helvetica, still reeling from her brush with danger saw Batavia’s anguished face. _We could take him._ She thought wildly as Emma began to whimper, trying to talk. _If we all attack him at once, here, now, we’d win._

“I can’t understand that rebel tongue of yours” said France sadly as Emma stuttered in Flemish. “I suppose I have no choice.” He raised his free arm, pulled it back to strike.

No one moved. No one but Poland.

“Hey.” She said, laying a hand on France’s raised arm, “I’m hungry and you promised me the best Paris had to offer.” She grinned cheekily. “Remember, Citizen?”

Abruptly Francis was back, all flirty airs as he released the Nine Providences to twine an arm around Poland’s slim hips. Emma fell against the wall clutching her shoulder. “But of course my noble hussar, we will feast as we have not in ages.”

“Not since we left Naples,” laughed Poland, taking off her czapka and blindly handing it to the nearest Nation, which was Luxemburg, still on the ground where Emma had pushed him. He was too shocked to do anything but accept the hat mutely.

France and Poland walked into the house arm in arm. “You’ll cook for us, won’t you Monaco?” France called carelessly over a shoulder. “Guadeloupe will help, I’m sure.”

The two women reluctantly moved away from the other Nations, obeying the unspoken orders to get to the kitchen and start work. There was silence as they left.

Batavia stirred himself and ran to his sister’s side, collapsing to his knees to fuss uselessly. Luxemburg sat next to him and resumed clutching the Nine Providence’s skirts, tears falling unheeded from his wide eyes.

Helvetica numbly turned to the rest. The Caribbean and East African territories had moved into a tight huddle for protection. Senegal stood apart from them all, staring after the couple, eyes hard.

“How can she bare to touch him?” He asked softly. “How can she bare to feel his skin against hers and smile?”

The heat of France’s fingers lingered on her face, unnatural and unwanted. Helvetica swallowed and willed it away.

“She was Poland,” spoke up the Parthenopean Republic harshly, “And she has nothing left to lose.” Her words finally broke the spell on everyone, and the atmosphere was lighter somehow. They were territories and occupied, but they were not gone, not wiped from the map completely. They were not frantically grasping at straws, clinging to life. Not yet.

.

Three weeks later the Helvetic Republic woke with a jolt, hand on her knife. Something had been set in motion and she needed to get home, now. 

She slipped out of bed and into civilian dress quickly, her bag having been packed for days. She took her hidden letters and contraband flag and left behind the Helvetic uniform. Her bedroom window opened to a sheer drop of three stories, so she scrambled up from the windowsill to the roof and down the other, less smooth wall. Experienced hands found grips, and footrests were easy to use in her boots. She was on the ground next to her dropped bag and down an alley way within half an hour of her waking.

Later a horse trader would be questioned closely about the horse he sold at dawn to a grim faced Swiss. The elderly citizen would tell them that when a Swiss does not argue with you about the first price you offer, you should know to just take the money, give them the horse and stay out of their way. He also said that as he watched the blond man leave, he seemed almost happy. For a Swiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Senegal was one of France’s only West Africa colonies at the time and is today 97% Islamic, hence the morning Salah (prayers). Peanuts and mangos are commonly eaten there (according to Wikipedia).
> 
> 2\. The Nine Providences (Belgium), along with Luxemburg, had the Peasant’s War against French occupation that went badly but did start the Flemish pride movement. 
> 
> 3\. The French Revolution did not just affect Europe. Its ideas of freedom and equality spread to the overseas French territories and each one reacted differently. Martinique (and others) were happy with France because he abolished slavery, Saint-Domingue (Haiti) and other territories were not happy because their slave riots were put down by the colonies in spite of the new government. And some, like Seychelles, were making the best of it by playing France off against England while remaining mostly neutral.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Russia and Austria restart the war with France, intent on checking his power and freeing his territories. Which would be great news for Switzerland, if they weren’t doing most of the fighting on her land. In the middle of everything, disturbing news arrives that makes her question just what she should be fighting for.

**April 1799**

Vreni arrived at her garden gate, filthy and exhausted. If she still had energy, she would have been furious. It was one thing to feel what her people were dealing with when she was far from home and preoccupied with her own personal indignities and trials; it was quite another to travel through her land, from village to village and see real suffering and desecration.

The French wanted tribute. The French wanted housing. The French wanted fresh recruits. And when they had drained what little there was, they had not been pleased. Vreni had passed by burnt crops, destroyed houses and the remains of hangings, where Swiss protesters and rebels had been made an example of. She hated herself for her laziness, for her collaboration. She should have set fire to her uniform before leaving; she should have left months ago; she should have never left her people, abandoned them to their fates.

Usually returning home lifted her spirits and filled her with a security and belonging she never felt anywhere else. Now all she felt was guilt and sorrow, mixed in liberally with her anger to herself and every one of her neighbours. 

Why were the Italies so weak yet so rich, that France went stomping through her land to get to them? Where in God’s name was Holy Rome to reign in his collaborating brothers? What was Austria up to, because he was always up to something? And as for France…

Vreni’s angry triad ended abruptly as she reached her front door and found the lock broken off, the door propped open by a stone from the garden. If she had not been so preoccupied, she would have noticed the smoke from her chimney sooner and other signs that someone was in her home.

 _France has the key._ She thought wildly, belatedly crouching down and hiding her presence. He would not need to break in; he could just lock the door behind him, rendering her completely surprised when she got in via the loose back window.

Mentally taking a deep breath Vreni calmed herself, pulled out her knife and readied her pistol. It didn’t have bullets in it but no one but her needed to know that. She slowly stood back up, having scanned her surroundings carefully. No one was in sight.

One swift kick opened the door wider, the door stop stone grating against the floor as it moved forward. Vreni was in the house before the sound stopped, up against a wall defensively. She looked left, then right and seeing nothing dived into the main room and behind a strongbox… which was no longer there.

The Archduchy of Austria and the Kingdom of Hungary looked at the Helvetic Republic, crouched behind nothing, said chest having been moved over to serve as their tea table.

There was something symbolic in that, thought a part of Vreni dryly, while the rest of her mind curled up in a little ball of embarrassment and willed the last minute of her life away. She was on her knees, shoulders and head bent down, pistol still pointed up over where the top of the chest should have been.

Austria had his hand on his sabre and Hungary’s pistol was out and aimed at Vreni, although both of them seemed just as frozen as her. There was a plate of pastries on the chest, and a steaming pot next to it. Vreni’s hunger won over her embarrassment.

Without speaking she got up, went to her kitchen, which remained unchanged at least, washed her hands and got out one of her mugs. She walked back into the main room, the other two still frozen, pulled up a stool and sat down at the makeshift table. 

Hungary blinked and holstered her pistol as Vreni poured herself a large cup of coffee, one pastry already in her mouth. “Would…you like some sugar?” She asked hesitantly, Hungarian accent as strong as ever no matter what language she spoke.

“Yes,” said Vreni shortly, holding out her cup. She did not move it back until four spoonfuls had been put in and stirred for good measure. After one big gulp, she felt composed enough to turn to Austria, face blank and ask “No milk?”

“The goats were not in a giving mood.” He responded, face just as expressionless, dainty coffee cup held delicately. He looked pointedly at her hand, poised to take another pastry and the silver tongs next to them. Vreni took two with her bare hand, just because she could.

It was a strange feeling, calmly sitting in her own home, sharing a table with one of her most conflicted neighbours and his favoured Kingdom. It was so surreal that the three were able to go through the meal calmly, with no conversation apart from a few “Pass the coffee pot,” and, “Anymore?” It was good to speak once more in a German dialect and not get disgusted or confused looks.

Once the food was finished Vreni wiped her hands and stood up. “That was a lovely meal. The coffee was excellent.” She pointed at the still open door. “Now: get out.” 

Hungary pulled a face, somewhere between admiration and disapproval. Austria did not even look up from his perusal of the coffee pot, making sure there really wasn’t anymore left in the bottom. “Don’t be ridiculous. We are not going anywhere until I have sorted out this mess you’ve created.”

“Me?” Vreni was indignant. “This mess I’VE created?”

“If you had dealt with your insurgents from the start and not dithered over peasant’s rights-”

“The peasants are my people too!” Interrupted Vreni. “They have just as much right to a good life as anyone else.”

“So you show no respect to your nobles, the families who have loved and cared for you for centuries,” Roderich sneered. “I always knew you have no loyalty to others, but to your own-“

“Loyalty.” Vreni interrupted again, “Yes, yes, let us talk about loyalty.” Her voice was low and dark. “Let us talk about your beloved Hapsburgs. Let’s talk about your dear Maria Antonia to whom you owed so much of your loyalty. Let’s talk about when the mobs came for her and her children; when my people laid down their lives for her husband; when they died at the hands of starving peasants. You. Did. Nothing.” She smiled bitterly at Roderich’s silence. “I’ve always wondered: when you sell your royals off, like cattle at a market, do you still feel them as your own? When the guillotine came down, did you feel it too? Did you feel the little Dauphin slowly starve to death, alone and scared. Maybe you just didn’t ca-“

Hungary slammed a wooden tray, down on the chest between the two Alpine Nations. She didn’t bother to pretend it was an accident. “Mister Helvetica, could you please show me where you keep the kitchen rags? I want to wash the crockery before I put it away.” She asked calmly.

Vreni scowled at her, but the interruption was enough for Roderich to visibly gather himself and return to his usual unruffled self. She had had him, dammit!

Ungraciously she led Hungary to the kitchen, secretly shocked at how stiff her legs were from sitting for such a short amount of time. She had to clutch the edge of the sink as she fished out some rags from under it and point to the dusty soap sitting on a window sill.

Hungary eyed her paling cheeks and gently moved her away from the sink and to a stool. “You really should try to save your strength. You have a rough time ahead of you.”

Vreni grumbled tiredly. Her own body and the strain her country was under was starting to get a bit too much. Maybe she should have given herself more time to acclimatise before entering her capital.

“I know Roderich may seem a bit overbearing at times,” Hungary continued, not seeing Vreni scowl behind her as she bent over the sink, doing her best with cold water. “But he means well and I really think you should listen to what he and Russia have to say.”

 _Russia?_ Vreni’s crowded mind tried to understand why Russia would be mentioned.

“For all their faults they really do mean to deal with France, once and for all this time.” Hungary scrubbed at the hardened sugar at the bottom of Vreni’s mug. “When you get your freedom back I’m sure Austria will have a reasonable way for you to pay him back. Then everything can go back to how it was before.”

Vreni tried to find a sore spot to poke. “Poland seems to be happy now,” she said blandly. It was a bit too much effort to put emotion into it. 

Hungary paused, and then put down the cloth to turn and face Vreni. She wiped her hands on her hussar pants as she walked towards Vreni’s slumped frame, face kind. “I know it’s really hard for you and Poland to understand.” She bent down onto one knee to meet Vreni’s eyes. “But sometimes you have to choose the lesser of two evils, not hold out for a better choice that won’t come.”

Vreni tried to keep her eyes open and look at Hungary’s sympathetic brown eyes. “It’s happened before.”

“What has?”

“A better choice.” Vreni’s eyes slid closed and she could not open them. A new wave of fleeing refuges slid over her border and away from her. “I… made one.”

.

If Hungary had not been kneeling next to her, Vreni would have hit the floor as consciousness left her. Fortunately Erzsébet caught her easily and shifted her into a comfortable grip, standing and walking back into the main room.

Roderich sat when she had left him, staring blankly at nothing. He started as Hungary came closer and he saw what she carried. 

“I think the strain just hit him suddenly.” said Erzsébet calmly as he stood and came to join her. “Here,” she passed the unconscious Nation into Roderich’s arms. “You get him to bed and I’ll finish the cleaning.”

Roderich had gone scarlet in the cheeks. “Erzsébet.” He hissed, awkwardly shifting Hevetica’s head to his shoulder, “I can’t take her to-. She’s a gi-, a wom-, female. She’s female.”

Brown eyes widened in surprise. “Are you sure?” she asked looking over the body in question carefully, while Roderich continued spluttering adorably. On close examination Erzsébet was prepared to concede that the stern sleeping face could belong to a young woman, if a boyish, half starved one. The blonde hair was too much of a mess to be a clue as to either gender.

“Does she know?” Erzsébet leaned closer, one hand reaching up to the collar of her coat. The bulky thing did not give anything away, not at chest or hip.

“What are you do- …of course she knows.” Roderich turned clumsily, preventing her from grouping the top of Helvetica’s coat. He clutched his burden closer, scandalised. “She used to run around in skirts and waist long hair, before she decided that armour and halberds were more exciting.” He regarded the sleeping face with a mix of hurt and exasperation.

“She has a point there.” Hungary grinned at him, remembering the sword he had given her before they had left Vienna. “I had better get her to bed myself, then.” Her grin widened as Roderich gave her a sharp look. 

“She won’t thank you for your trouble.”

“We’re not here for gratitude, are we?” Hungary easily took the weight of Vreni once more as Roderich relinquished her gently. Verni's head lolled back to rest on Erzsébet’s shoulder as she started to walk to the very back of the chalet, where Verni’s stark bed resided.

Roderich looked at his hands for a moment, warmth still lingering with Verni’s faint metallic scent mixed with grass and dirt. Then he roughly wiped them off on his trousers and turned briskly back to the strongbox, pushing his thoughts elsewhere. There was work to be done and borders to defend.

 

 **28 November 1800, Swiss-Holy Roman Empire Border**

Within the murky and contradicting myths and theories that exist about the nature of Nations, one rule existed undisputed: a Nation had to obey their appointed leader, their ruling personage, their boss. It was a rule that could never been broken, not by any Nation. Even in times of chaos and confusion, that rule held a Nation immobile and obedient, even as the rest of the population tore the land apart. Direct civil disobedience was never an option. Never.

Technically the Helvetic Directory was the Helvetic Republic’s boss. Technically she had to obey every command they uttered. Technically she had never been formally introduced to them and had managed to avoid any and all of the urgent summons they sent to her. Technically serving in the rebel army was not so much disobeying as being wilfully ignorant of any orders she may have been obligated to obey.

But then Vreni had always worked a bit differently to other Nations. While others had a central form of government, until France had seen fit to gift her with a shiny new constitution, the Swiss Confederation had been so loosely joined together that other Nations assumed she was just one of the multiple Cantons dotting the hillside. She was not. She was all of Swissland; all the cantons, all the dialects, all the religions united in their distrust of others. She knew how to float above all internal conflicts, drift to the side, wait and always end up on the victor’s side. It had always worked for her, before France showed up.

Her habit of disjointed governing meant she managed the war better than anyone else could have. Even as the Russian, French and Austrian armies carved up her towns and cities in battle after battle, even as her people fought on both sides, she kept mobile and active. When the Directory raised the age of conscription and forced more men into France’s army she fought on. When the Helvetica Army was outright disbanded and merged with the Army of Danube, she did her duty.

France thought she had been summoned home by the Directory and was still on his side. Austria thought she had finally seen sense and would follow his commands. Russia thought she was a brave soul, aiding his men. Hungary wished she’d engage in more girl talk when they sat by the campfires plotting their next move. 

Lithuania, who was in a similar position to hers, stretched between Russia and France on a tightrope of diplomacy and promises, said nothing and gave nothing away, when word of Poland’s exploits reached them.

And Vreni, trying not to show the wounds they were inflicting on her land, vowed once more to never ever be involved in a political union. They never ended well. And she worked and she waited, for a chance to act and reclaim some of her own power.

Vreni took as neutral a role as possible within the various armies she worked with. She scouted ahead, finding routes away from innocent civilians and tempting farms. She nursed the dying in the night hours when she could not sleep and buried their bodies in ground no one else could break through. She found supplies no one knew of, that would not be missed and tried to lighten her people’s load in any way she could. 

It was on one such mission, on her border with the Holy Roman Empire that she came face to face with the Electorate of Bavaria.

Bavaria was as always, a tall and intimidating figure, even if most of his bulk was gone and his brown hair had thick strikes of grey. His eyes were as calm as ever, even as he eyed Helvetica’s brandished musket.

“And you’d shot me with it, too.” He said in dark approval as he gave up his own weapon willingly. “Been looking for you _Waldstȁtten_ , need to have a word, People to People.”

The small squad of scouts and jȁgers Helvetica had been commanding looked to her in worry, even as one took Bavaria’s weapon and another searched him hesitantly for more. 

Verdi looked at the brown-haired Nation, the closest thing she and Austria had ever had as a father figure, and nodded. “I can spare some time.” A few sharp commands sent her men off into the bare landscape to find something, anything for the army to eat. Once the humans were gone, Bavaria slumped down, a worrying hunch showing under his uniform. 

Verdi did not put down her musket. Bavaria had tolerated her at best, attempted to take her German speaking people from her at worst. Just because he too was stuck between France and Austria was no reason to trust him completely.

Bavaria sat down heavily on a rock, his breathing heavy and loud, like an old man. He looked like an old man, Verdi’s common sense told her although she could not believe it. Nations did not get old. She crouched down on her hunches, waiting for him to speak

For some time there was silence, as Bavaria stared off into space and Verdi felt armies settle down for the night. Tonight there would be no battles, tonight she may have had a chance to sleep.

“You look like Uri.” He said finally, startling her out of her light meditation. “You have Schwyz’s colouring, but you scowl just like Uri when someone entered his domain.”

Helvetica didn’t show any of her curiosity about her predecessors, although she had often wondered about them. Though she had always been too much of a mongrel to claim any direct lineage, her birth place had been on Schwyz’s lands. And she remembered Unterwalden’s voice cursing her as she fled on young legs from his deathbed.

“Me, I don’t look a thing like Germania.” Bavaria continued contemplatively, still looking away at nothing. “Got his eyes, of course. But everyone does, even Sweden and he never claimed her.” 

Helvetica held her tongue back from demanding he get to the point. Bavaria had wrinkles on his face and his hands were gnarled and stiff. There was no escaping it, Bavaria looked old.

“Holy Roman Empire now, he is the splitting image of Germania, on his good days.” Bavaria looked down the bare ground, frowning. “There are very few good days, lately.”

Helvetica swallowed back her involuntary objection. She was no longer a part of the Empire and did not have to hear about the child who had done nothing to aid her when she struggled to forge herself. She did not have to care that he was undoubtedly experiencing the same chaotic pain that she felt, magnified ten fold by all the individual Nations within him sending him their pain. She did not feel sympathy for anyone.

“You were in France’s house for a year.” Bavaria said changing topics abruptly. “Did he bring home any new People? Did you hear rumours of sightings of strange children in new Republics?”

These were questions Helvetica never thought she would be asked. She answered hesitantly. “There were many new Republics. Batavia, the Nine Providences, the Parthenopean Republic-“

“No.” Bavaria cut her off, “New People, not old ones with new names. Completely new ones, born this very decade.” He clicked his fingers, “Like Lemania or Rhodania, got any new sisters running around?”

“No, I do not.” Snapped Verdi, losing her temper, “Vaud and Valais are mistaken in thinking they are anything but a part of me. And as soon as I have dealt with France I will show them how wrong they are.”

“You sound like an Empire, when you talk like that.” Observed Bavaria calmly. Verdi’s musket was in his face before he had time to fully close his mouth.

“You take that back.” She hissed, barrel of her gun almost against his cheek. “I am nothing like the rest, storming in and taking what belongs to another. All I want is to be left alone with MY land, no one else’s.”

“Burgundy would argue against that.” Bavaria countered mildly.

“Burgundy can come and argue with me any time he pleases.” She shot back.

“But he can’t, can he, _Waldstȁtten_? Because he’s dead.” Bavaria finally reacted to the gun in his face by pushing it away gently. “Dead like so many other of my companions, worn out by you and yours with your strange strengths and expanding natures.” He cocked his head to one side, looking up at her, “In my day, the idea of a People embodying so many different tribes was absurd, an abomination even. Then Roman Empire changed everything.”

“Look.” Helvetica interrupted him, still angry, “This is all very interesting and if I didn’t have several armies waging war on my land I’d love to listen but-“

“Be still, you stupid girl!” Bavaria raised his voice and a sting of ancient memories that weren’t her own hit Verdi and made her silent. 

“Rome changed everything.” Continued Bavaria at a normal tone, “Went on until Germania finally formed to get rid of him and killed himself in the process. Thought it was all over, thought it would go back to being a People for each tribe.” He scowled at nothing remembering the distant past. “It never did, those killed never came back. Instead we got you and yours, small and weak but slowly growing. So slowly we didn’t notice until you were too strong to be rid of.” Bavaria looked her over, fitted in her jȁger green uniform and red armband, the white cross the only thing identifying her as the leader of the Swiss troops within the army.

“You should never have been able to defeat Burgundy, all disjointed as you were. Your people still don’t speak the same language, let alone the same dialect.” Bavaria sighed. “But here you stand, despite everything.” He looked down at his aged hands. “And here I sit, with age on my face, like Rome had when he died.”

Helvetica felt a niggle of fear deep within her distrust. “Just what do you want Bavaria?”

“Straight forward at least.” He remarked to no one, “You’re still German enough, in some ways.”

“Bavaria.” Helvetica demanded “Talk. You spoke of Holy Roman.”

“He’s dying.” Bavaria said simply. “Been dying for years, but now he really means to finish it. And it’s not just him. Whole family has been dropping like flies.” He looked to the ground, rubbing a bare wedding finger, “Palatinate, Luebeck, most of the City States.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “They survived the Thirty Years War, but they couldn’t survive Nationalism.”

Helvetica had no words. She simply stared at him, eyes wide and unbelieving. Then a thought popped in her mind and she spoke before thinking. “Austria, is he-“

“Aware?” Bavaria smiled without expression. Verdi, who had been about ask if Austria was alright, stopped speaking. Of course Roderich was alright, she had seen him a week ago insulting the officers’ rations while on the march for Munich. “He knows, is intent on hiding it from everyone, but he knows.” He frowned at the ground.

Cautiously Verdi moved a little closer to him. “Is that why you asked me about new Republics? Have the German Republics got new People?”

“No. Like your Lemania or Rhodania, there is no one claiming them. And we’ve all tried.” He made a ruefully grin. “Saxony, Swabia, even Prussia butted in to try and absorb them. But,” he shrugged. “They are like blank areas in our territories; we can’t feel them as our own no matter what we do.”

Verdi hissed in sympathy and involuntarily turned her mind to Vaud and Valais, the alleged separate Republics. She could still feel them, far away but still ultimately a part of her. She drew her attention back to Bavaria. “No, there are no new Nations about, not in my land nor else where.”

Bavaria nodded and got to his feet unsteadily. Vreni stifled down the urge to help him, he was still a powerful Elect in his own right. “Then I thank-you for your time and will see myself off of your land.”

“Wait a minute!” exclaimed Vreni moving after him. “You can’t just go without telling me the rest. What about Holy Rome Empire, is he really dying? How-,” _how will his death affect me_ , she wanted to ask. “Will his death change things? What will change within his lands?”

Bavaria sighed, a deep old sigh of many emotions. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll all die with him. Maybe we’ll get all the unclaimed land and everything will be as it should. But probably.” His face twisted. “His land will be split between France and Austria and maybe Poland will get her bit of land back as well. And what’s left of us Germanics will have to scrape and fight for our own piece. Like we always have.” He sighed again, lighter than before. “Like we always will.”

There was nothing Vreni could say to that. She nodded her head and handed him back his musket. As he looked the gun over he spoke again.

“Piece of advice, _Waldstȁtten_ , from one People to another: this war is dragging on and Russia has already abandoned it. Austria will strike a deal with France before the year is out. I’d try and get there first if I were you.”

With that the Electorate of Bavaria walked off into the night, disappearing from sight.

Vreni sat down where he had been and let out a sigh of her own. She had many things to think on and important decisions to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. To clarify: yes Vreni is androgynous and goes about in military dress and masculine hair, so most people assume she’s a guy. Austria knows because as he said, he grew up with her and France knows because his perception of gender is outdone only by his ability to exploit weakness and grope them.
> 
> 2\. The Second Coalition from 1799 to 1802 was basically Austria and Russia vs France on Swiss, South West German and North Italian ground. Everybody else jumped in and out of the war as their supplies and military alliances allowed. After a promising start and a difficult middle in the Alps Russia ducked out due to England going nuts and insisting on searching every ship he came across which pissed off everyone. And then Austria basically went “Time Out!” gave up most of North Italy (but not the city of Venice) and went home to plot revenge… I take my history very seriously.
> 
> 3\. Waldstȁtten (literally, "forest settlement") refers to the three founding Cantons of the Old Swiss Confederacy: Uri, Schwyz and Unterwalden.
> 
> 4\. The Thirty Years War was a disastrous religious war when Europe used the Germanies as a battlefield and lead to the decentralisation of the Holy Roman Empire. It was one of the longest and most destructive conflicts in European history, and one of the longest continuous wars in modern history. It sucked and I really pity any German State who had to live through it.
> 
> 5\. If anyone is a bit confused with all the random history I’m throwing about, please let me know and I will gladly explain.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear:
> 
> Marijn – is currently the Batavian Republic, will one day be the Netherlands  
> Letizia – was the Parthenopean Republic, currently is the Kingdom of Naples, will one day be Southern Italy  
> Feliciano – is currently the Cisapline Republic, will one day be Northern Italy.  
> (The Italian states go through so many name changes it’s not even funny.)

**29 November 1800, Swiss-Holy Roman Empire Border**

Vreni spent the night in the valley, deep in thoughts and plans. She had known for a while that she could not continue as she had. Bavaria just made her realise that she had no more time to waste. A decision had to be reached and followed, though it may lead her down a difficult path and away from her home.

The moon rose higher as time passed on and the wind picked up. A thousand stars looked down on her, a single figure on a lonely landscape far from anything else. Age old trees concealed the Jura Mountains around them, allowing only the snow caped tips to show. It was a beautiful sight, sure to lift the sprits of anyone. Anyone not staving or freezing or exhausted, anyone not fearful of what the next day will bring. Beauty is not enough for a Nation’s land to have, though Vreni had wished it were so countless times.

The facts were these: France was there to stay. No matter what Vreni and her people did, no matter whom they petitioned or what they set fire to, the French were quite comfortable right where they were. In the Helvetic Republic. Using up her resources, pillaging and plundering her people’s scant possessions and trampling upon all of the bright promises they had made to her.

France held every advantage and Helvetica was fast losing the energy to put up a decent fight. Which was not to say her people had any intention of giving in, just that Helvetica could not deny how little of a chance they had at winning. And she could die. That was one thing she had never up till now even considered a possibility. Nations could die, were dying and she could be next if she did not act.

Russia was gone, Lithuania with him. Britain had promised aid but he had many other concerns stealing his time, especially his impending union with Ireland, the one Nation France had failed to ‘liberate’. Bavaria had been dragged over to France’s side and the rest of the Holy Roman Empire was too conflicted to rely on. Italy was also firmly, if reluctantly, under France’s hold. Austria was… Austria. He had been well meaning at the start of this war, but when the going got tough, the Duchy of Austria got a treaty. It was only a matter of time before he abandoned her as well.

Vreni lifted her head up to the heavens and resisted the urge to scream her frustrations up into her endless sky of stars. She knew what she had to do. Sometimes a Nation had to what they needed done, in order to survive, no matter what their people wanted. Even if the Nations themselves would have really _really_ rather not.

The Helvetic Republic stood up, willing freezing bones to throw off their stiffness just a little while longer. She would return to camp, give her resignation and return to France’s side. Her sedate jȁger uniform would once more be exchanged for an ostentatious Helvetic-French one, her chance at freedom exchanged for a chance of survival.

Dawn was on its way, the first hints of light dispelling the stars. The Helvetic Republic left for Zurich and the legislative council that governed her, before the sun had a chance to rise to its full height.  
.  
.  
.

There was no denying it, when the Helvetic Republic returned to the French side of the war and joined his army in South Germany she did harbour a few daydreams of defiant demonstrations and pointed shows of her rebellion. Then she actually came into range of France and his inflated ego. There was no Poland here to redirect his attentions, should the mighty French Republic takeover over from overbearing, but well meaning Francis. Quietly she slunk into the Swiss Regiment and kept her head down.

She was not bothered by anyone as the months went on and France returned to Paris, leaving his troops squatting on Bavaria’s land, just as other troops still squatted on her own home. Helvetica bit her tongue and obeyed her orders. Her legislative council had been more reasonable than she had pessimistically expected. She was not the only one aware of the capricious situation they were in and how resistance, while invigorating, was not going to do much good. France had to think he could trust her, only then would he give her the illusion of freedom.

So Vreni lost herself in the movements of troops, almost able to pretend it was just another mercenary job and that the payment each month was worth it. She stuck with her people and no one outside the regiment worked out who or what she was. A tiny bit of National influence insured that none of the Swiss thought too hard about the fact that she was a women, and let her be, as her fellow soldiers had done for centuries.

It worked so well that no one saw fit to warn her of the carriage sent to fetch her for Lunéville.

.

“I’m not wearing it.” Vreni, still in her worn and dirty work uniform, did not look up at the offending dress. She was too busy reading the documents they had brought, relating to the treaty they were heading to. Letizia glared at her unheeded. The Southern Italian Kingdom was dressed, as always, in a flawless outfit that highlighted her features to their best effect. Jewellery hinted wealth Vreni knew for a fact she did not have. The Kingdom of Naples had won back her name but not much else in her own ill fated rebellion. 

Next to them, the Batavian Republic continued staring out the window, looking up at the sky and not the moving countryside. Helvetica thought he looked worse than when she had last seen him, but it was hard to tell with all the still healing wounds he had.

“Do you have any idea how much effort I went through getting this made for you?” scowled Letizia shaking the white dress. “I had to search for ages to find your uniform and get your damn measurements.”

“I left it in the cupboard, how hard could it have been to find?” muttered Vreni, turning a page. Supposedly this treaty would allow her to draft a new constitution, but she would still need French approval to pass it into law. Damn.

Letizia carried on. “Then I had to find cloth I could afford and that is just impossible in Paris at the moment.” She broke off to look at Vreni suspiciously. “Seychelles gave me the fabric in the end, when I told her who it was for. Said it was a gift. Why would she do such a thing?”

Helvetica blinked, thrown off by the question. She did not think she had even met Seychelles yet, let alone earned a gift of English muslin- … England, it was from England. 

“Maybe she plans to hire guards in the future.” Put in the Batavian Republic, still looking out the window, knuckles white on the side of the carriage. “It’s a way to open diplomatic channels.”

Letizia huffed, finally dropping the dress on to the set next to her. “Do I have to remind you that none of us have any diplomatic channels to open, even with this fancy new treaty?”

“Why are you here, Naples?” asked Helvetica sourly. “You aren’t mentioned in the briefing at all.”

“Chigi.” Sniffed Letizia. “But the precious Cisapline Republic is and since dear, _darling_ Feliciano is far too delicate to actually do anything useful.” For a moment it looked like she as going to spit on to the floor of the carriage, “I was elected to come in his place.” She resumed scowling.

“Emma dropped a loom on my foot, the last time I tried to sign a treaty for her.” Said Marijn thoughtfully, still looking out the window, eyes focused on the sky.

“Feliciano tried to hug me and tell me what to do when he got the news.” Muttered Letizia, looking at the floor.

In the middle of trying to work out what England’s game in all of this was, Helvetica spared a moment to be thankful she had no relatives to complicate her life even more than it already was.

“So are you going to change now into this now, or when we get there.” Asked Letiza, abruptly changing moods.

“I told you, I’m not wearing it.” Helvetica went back to scrutinising the paperwork, wishing the ride was smoother so she could add notes. 

Letiza continued to complain as they made their way to Lunéville. Marijn continued to suppress his travel sickness and plot his own political maneuverings. And Vreni continued to read frantically and wish for a pencil.  
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**Luneville, Bavaria 9 February 1801**

The French Republic met his satellite territories with warmth and affection. He was met with synchronised looks that promised a concentrated effort to rip off one of his limbs, if he tried anything friendlier than a handshake. It was one thing to be cooperative with France, it was quite another to let your guard down around him.

The Helvetic Republic attempted to ask him about the treaty and how much pull she had over certain issues, but France defected with concern over her still bedraggled appearance. The dress the Kingdom of Naples had brought had been used to bribe an official on the road several hours earlier, once Letiza had been convinced that it was the dress or her jewellery that would have to go.

In the end Vreni appeared at the treaty meeting in the dress uniform of a French Infantry solider, its original owner being a close enough match to her size. She deserved a higher rank of uniform, but anything was better than a dress that allowed for no weapons or freedom of movement.

The uniform dictated she stand at the meeting, along with Marijn, while Letiza got to sit near a fire, like a delicate lady she was pretending to be. On the Austrian side of the table Hungary gave a quick sheepish smile from behind Bohemia’s chair, while the Czech territory openly rolled her eyes. Austria avoided her gaze and focused on his officials and diplomats.

Their presence was largely for show as none of them had a chance to say anything. They were merely there as symbols of what the humans were agreeing to. The Helvetic Republic held her peace as borders were moved and territories granted and listened hard to anything that could be used to her own advantage.

Nothing of any use ever came up. Peace and understanding was promised, by delegates who almost seemed sincere. France gained territory up to the left of the Rhine and his general earnestly agreed to give up any claim to territories on the east bank. Everyone dully agreed that the Batavian, Cisalpine and Helvetic Republics were completely independent and that everyone should respect their freedom. Vreni just managed to stifle her snort of disbelief.

The Italian peninsular was cut up and divided between the two sides equally. Letiza remained suspiciously quiet throughout that part of the meeting. Vreni glanced at her out of the corner of one eye and saw the Kingdom of Naples hand entwined with one of her diplomat’s hands. For a moment she thought he was restraining her, then a second glance clarified things. Letiza’s hand was white at the knuckles as she clutched the diplomat’s hand, so tightly gripped there was pain in his eyes. But not as much as Letiza’s hazel eyes held, as she stared down at the table cloth, while others talked over her head and decided her fate. Again.

The Helvetic Republic suppressed her own indignation when Fricktal was given to her. Given. As if she had not offered Austria a fair price for that territory years ago. As if she had not been completely capable of earning her own keep in (almost) perfect harmony before France had shown up. As if a few cherry orchards were going to make up for anything she had endured this past year. Vreni made herself listen carefully while the treaty dealt with her, locking away her feelings. They would do nothing to help her.

Marijn was his stoic self when his turn came. A part of Vreni wondered if it was even more difficult for the Batavian Republic, who had colonies of his own, to bare such indignities. She wondered if his situation made him pause and reflect back to his own actions as a conquering country and see things in a different light. Probably not, she decided. Nations were notoriously lacking in self reflection.

The meeting finally ended after Austria and France gracefully put their signatures onto the official documents. The humans left quickly after that, leaving the client Nations to awkwardly mill around while France and Austria exchanged pleasantries.

As nonchalantly as she could manage, Vreni moved towards Hungary. The Mayern Nation looked at her and gave a brittle smile, brown eyes placid. Her mouth opened, undoubtedly to recite some insipid excuse Austria gave her to say, then shut it closed again abruptly. Vreni felt Elezabeth look her over, possibly the first Nation in the room to actually see her as she stood there defeated, in borrowed clothes. 

“Swissland.” Elezabeth spoke in her own language and Vreni could just understand her. “I am so sorry. For everything. It should not have ended this way.”

For an instant, Vreni felt the horrifying sensation of tears behind her eyes and resisted the overwhelming urge to collapse into Hungary’s arms and weep out all the guilt, shame and fear she felt. She was useless, had failed her people by doing nothing to help them and Nations were dying. Nations were dying and she could be next and she was so scared…

Vreni channelled her anger forcing down her fear and sadness, and stiffly nodded thanks at Hungary’s words. She took a slow deep breath and composed herself once more.

“Where is Holy Rome?” she asked, her voice harsher than she meant to sound. “Isn’t this his land and his treaty to sign?”

Hungary frowned lightly, probably put off by her stiffness. “Bremen is keeping him occupied. He won’t stop threatening war on Hanover.” Her frown deepened. “And we really can’t risk that at the moment, not with so much else going on.”

“Really,” said Vreni, feeling her heart start to speed up. Bremen was a city state and Bavaria had said they were all dead. Perhaps he had been lying and Holy Rome was fine, perhaps no one was going to die including herself. “When did he leave?”

“I don’t know.” Hungary looked over to Austria, still engaged in politicking some way away from them. “I haven’t seen him in two years, he’s been so busy. First Prussia dragged him off, then Saxony and so many others after that.” She bit her lip. “Austria won’t tell me anything, but he was so sickly the last time I saw him. I think Austria is trying to keep him out of the way of any fighting until he gets better.”

A completely plausible theory. Vreni could almost believe it, if she had not spoken to a visibly aged and weakened Bavaria, on a cold night when he had had nothing to gain from lying. “I need to speak with him. Do you a way of contacting him that I can use?”

“No I don’t but Austria can- oh dear.” Hungary’s alarmed face made Vreni turn around quickly to find said Nation standing behind her, arms folded and lips pressed in a tight line. Vreni heard Hungary make a muttered excuse and move away from the two, leaving them to their confrontation. 

For an instant, the image of a much younger Roderich flashed through Vreni’s mind, arms folded to hide bruises and dirt, lips bitten to suppress sobs. It had been so easy to solve things then, just a bit of food and fussing had set him right and off on another foolish brawl with a neighbour. Vreni had never thought she would have to tilt her chin up, to meet Roderich’s face with a glare of her own.

“And just who do you need to speak with so urgently, Helvetica?” he asked calmly, almost uncaringly.

Vreni waited for the usual surge of anger and envy to hit her and take control of the situation, but nothing happened. Possibly her emotions had been suppressed for so long that they could not respond fast enough, not even at such a perfect target. Thus, she was forced to speak civilly to the Duchy of Austria.

“I want to speak to the Holy Rome Empire.” She said honestly. “I had hoped he would be here as well.”

Roderich brought his long fingers together in an arch, a placid gesture of consideration. “He was unable to attend.”

“Why?” the single word came out softer than she had planned, almost pleading.

“It is none of your concern.” He said stiffly, his figures beginning to tap against each other in an uneven pattern. “You left the Empire of your own accord; his reasons are no longer any business of yours.”

“Left of my own accord,” Vreni said tonelessly, unable to reconcile Austria’s version of events to her own. “That’s a tidy way of phasing 50 years of war.”

Roderich’s fingers continued tapping together irregularly, gloved hands still together in an arch. He said nothing.

“Is Henrich alright, Austria?” she probed again, uncomfortable but not willing to give up without answers.

“He will be.” Roderich said, and then repeated his words slightly louder “He will be alright, one way or another, before too long.” If Vreni had not been looking for it, had not spent a lifetime in his company, she would have missed the flash of despair on his face.

“Please give my best wishes, when next you see him.” Vreni looked down at her hands, clenching them. “I always felt for him, having so many States to keep under control.” Like me, she left unsaid.

“You are nothing like Henrich, Vreni” he said softly, startling them both with the use of her personal name.

There was a moment where they stared at each other in synchronized embarrassment, before making muttered excuses and backing away from each other. Vreni found a quiet corner by the door to stand in and did not watch Austria herd his group towards the opposite exit in quick, bird like motions.

“Well” France materialised at her side, eyes droopy but friendly. “That’s that then. We can leave tomorrow morning.” He seemed to be content and placid, new territory sedating him back into the sane ally Vreni had once known.

“I want to go home,” Vreni half-whined, not fighting the arm slung around her waist. She felt pangs for familiar scenery and comforting certainty.

“Tch.” France propped his chin on her head and she could feel him rolling his eyes. “You always want to go home.” He patted her shoulder.

Vreni bit her lip, feeling tears she had been fighting down for weeks begin to spill onto her cheeks. One sob escaped, before she suppressed the rest. It was the relief of knowing for certain, that Bavaria had been telling her the truth, which had set her off.

“Humm?” France moved his head to look down at her, startled into rare uncertainty. “No, don’t do that _mon trognon_.” He moved his arm off her completely, and fluttered his hands uncertainty, wanting to comfort her but knowing she did not like physical contact at the best of times.

She went outside, the cold air striking her wet face. Vreni bent over, hands on her chest and breathed deeply through her nose, willing her tears to stop. After a few lungfulls of almost fresh air she was composed.

France waved a laced handkerchief at her, an almost scared look on his face. Vreni wiped her cheeks, looking around to make sure no one else had seen her little breakdown. It had been embarrassing enough with her overlord seeing.

“We can go back via the pass.” Said Francis quietly, as she stuffed the handkerchief in a pocket. “Marijn travels better by horse than by carriage and Letiza will complain no matter how we go.”

Vreni felt the first smile in ages tug on her face. “That would be nice. Thank-you.”

They bid each other a pleasant evening then went their separate ways, Vreni to her room and Francis to wherever he wanted to go.

Vreni was about halfway to her room with Letiza when the reality of the situation hit her. She had actually thanked her invader for letting her travel through her own land on the way back to virtual imprisonment in Paris.

She knocked her head against a convenient pillar until the shame went away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The real reason France and Austria agreed not to have Feliciano around is guilt over Holy Roman’s impending death. But deep down both would-be Empires were concerned with the idea of “No money = no Swiss” Switzerland, “War before I pay taxes” Venice and “Merchant Capitalism” Netherlands in carriage together for several hours unsupervised.
> 
> 2\. I could have gotten this all wrong but it looks like that in 1801 Nationalism was not all that strong in Hungary, due to a very small population of Mayerns still recovering from Turkish rule. I feel that Hungary would be really sympathetic to any Nation being carved up and ruled over, and wanting to help them; but still really grateful to Austria for finally getting her away from the Ottoman Empire and not wanting willing to directly challenge him. Give her a few years though…
> 
> 3\. Austria was mentally playing the piano, if the whole finger thing seemed weird. And he basically admitted to Switzerland the Holy Rome is at death’s door due to disjointed states, but she’ll be fine. He hopes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Helvetic Republic gets the one thing she really wants: to be left completely alone with her people. At least that's what she thinks she's getting. But neither France nor England got made Empires by being nice and Vreni is about to get a particularly nasty lesson in strategy.

**Chapter 5**

_**May 1802, Paris** _

“Where is he?” Hissed the Helvetic Republic, storming through France’s sitting room. Colonies and Territories had scattered at the sight of her, face distorted with rage, an official document crumpled in one hand. “Where?”

Seychelles gestured to the door that led to the rose garden, brown eyes not looking up from her sewing hook. At this point in the Napoleonic wars it was completely normal for the most mild mannered of Nations to completely loose their self control whenever new information from their home reached them. Helvetica marched out into the midmorning sunlight without acknowledgement or thanks.

The French Republic sat with his sister, in the middle of a bottle of wine, admiring the beautiful garden around them. At the opposite end of the courtyard, the Batavian Republic looked up from his Bible reading, saw Vreni’s face and snatched up his two colonies. The Cape Colony waved happily from over Marijn’s broad shoulder, apparently glad religious propaganda time was over. Antilles just sighed and flopped over the opposite shoulder, unhappy with the dry heat.

Vreni narrowed her eyes as Marijn carried the children away from her. England had returned those two colonies to Batavia, in the Treaty of Amiens when he and France had finally agreed to peace terms. With England out of the picture, Europe was technically at peace. At the mercy of the French Republic and Napoleon, but at peace.

The Helvetic Republic had been following the orders of her own Council since the Treaty of Luneville, keeping her multiple grievances to herself and hoping France would lighten the burdens his people had piled onto her rapidly exhausting country. But today she had being given news that had driven all sense of practicality and self preservation from her mind.

Coming up to the seated France, Vreni threw down the declaration onto the table and glared straight into his smiling face. “And just what do you think you’re doing?”

“Sharing a glass of wine with family,” he said gesturing with his glass at Monaco who froze with her glass half way to her lips, guilt plain on her face. “Why don’t you go get a glass for Helvetia, sister?”

No fool, Monaco nodded and left quickly, leaving them alone.

“Helvetic Republic” said France slowly, putting down his glass and gesturing to the vacated seat. “Sit.”

Vreni fought down the urge to obey his request. “I’d rather stand.” She pointed at the document, trying to get back some of her rage. “Explain yourself.”

France quirked an eyebrow at her and delicately picked up the parchment on the table. Slowly he read over it, while Vreni’s common sense screamed at her at the back of her mind.

“It all seems very clear,” said France after a few minutes, looking up at her. “The Rhodanic Republic has been declared independent and your boss wants you to put your seal on it.”

“But Valais is mine,” said Vreni, “It was incorporated into my land when I became a republic. I earned it!”

“But it’s a mess, _mon trognon_ ,” said Francis reaching out a hand to her face. Vreni moved out of reach and he drew it back, hurt in his eyes. “It’s so unstable and violent, draining you of strength all the time. I thought it would help you if Valais was taken off your hands.”

Vreni bit down on her next words, closed her eyes and took a deep steadying breath, gathering her courage. All her anger had left her, leaving only determination and slightly trembling legs.

“Francis, you are draining me of strength.” she said softly, forcing herself to look him in the eye. “Your men are violent and unstable, a burden to my people.” A wave of turmoil brushed against her mind, as she reached into her mind to feel her land. “If you really want to help me, if you care at all, you would call back your troops and let me go home to undo the damage.”

There was second of stillness, as something flashed over Francis’s face. Vreni’s body involuntarily tightened, ready for the coming anger and punishment. But instead his face smoothed over and a soft, sad smile appeared. “Of course I care for you, Vreni. If nothing else, you must never doubt that.” Again he reached out and this time Vreni let him take her hand. “I have so many other things to take care of, with the new elected and such.” He took her hand to his lips and gently kissed lightly scared knuckles. “Before the month is done, my soldiers will have withdrawn and your land will be your own once more.” He kissed her hand again, thumb rubbing her fingers soothingly. “It will be officially sanctioned by this time tomorrow.”

“I…” Vreni swallowed down the thanks that tried to worm its way out. “That is good news.” She gently pulled her hand away. “May I start packing?”

“If you feel you need to be home, then by all means.” He let go of her tingling hand. “Go before the sun sets again.”

Vreni risked a half smile of gratitude, before leaving the garden, forgetting the document in her haste.

Monaco appeared once she was gone, with no glass in her hands, and sat back in her seat. “Did it go well?” She asked politely.

“Yes,” answered the French Republic absentmindedly, twirling his glass as he watched petals fall from old roses. “Almost too well.” Then he snapped back to his cheerful self and dominated the conversation, talking excessively about how his dear Poland was enjoying the climate in the Caribbean and how Spain had started talking to him again.

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**June 1802, Zurich**

“It’s a trick,” said Helvetica with certainty, watching the last of the French army pack their wagons. They were taking significantly more things than what they had brought, but Vreni could do nothing about their open thievery. Not when France appeared to be giving her exactly what she wanted.

“Sir?” A dutiful secretary of the legislative council stood by her side, looking confused. They had been standing by the window for sometime, taking a break from the pile of paperwork waiting on the Helvetic Republic’s official desk.

“It’s too easy,” she said, gesturing down to a crowd of her people already rolling out beer barrels to celebrate. “France is up to something. I don’t know what, but he is.”

“Perhaps he plans to send more troops to the western colonies,” said the man lightly, in his native Romansh.

“Perhaps,” replied Vreni in French, not bothering to change dialects. Not long after she had left France, the abolition of slavery had been revoked by Napoleon, infuriating every non-European Colony. France would have his hands full for some time, putting down countless rebellions. “We need to act quickly, before France can turn his attention back to us.”

“A meeting of the various resistance groups and cantons is being organised,” agreed the secretary, looking at the list in his hand.

“No, not that. We must look outwards and guard our borders against further intrusions,” said Vreni thoughtfully, glancing back at her desk. There was a substantial pile of official correspondence, from Nations she had not heard from in years. “We must be seen as able to defend our borders.”

“I fear you may not be in possession of all the facts, Herr Swissland,” said the man delicately, not looking up at her startled frown.

“I am the Helvetic Republic,” she said sharply, speaking Romansh. “And I was the Swiss Confederation for centuries before that. I am fully aware of everything that has happened in my land these past years. And what has to be done to prevent it from happening again.”

“Then you will attend the meeting?” Asked the secretary looking suitably chastised.

“My presence will not be required.” She turned back to the window and her people, now opening their barrels of long hidden beer. “There have always been internal disputes, and there always will be discord among the cantons but it is the turmoil on the outskirts that I have to focus on.” She narrowed her eyes speculatively “And how to undo the partitions. A good show of strength should bring them begging to be let back in.”

“But perhaps…”

“No.” Vreni walked back to her desk, looking for a certain stack of letters. “You can go to these canton meetings on your own, since you think them so important.”

“But I really don’t think...” He trailed off, seeing his Nation's lack of interest. “Yes, my lord.” He gave a half-hearted bow and left the room.

Vreni ignored him, opening a letter she had carried with her for over a year. She smiled as she read it, partly due to what she read but mostly because she could hear her people starting to sing an old drinking song, already celebrating their freedom.

It was so nice to be home and in control once more.

 

**August 1802, Graubünden outside of Turns**

Vreni walked up the trail slowly, savouring the open space and cool air, free from clambering voice demanding she do something about problems that would sort themselves out. Humans. Every time a new batch came into power they acted as if she had not gone through the exact same crisis many times before. The only thing she needed in order to recover was time and time could be bought with diplomatic maneuvering.

Which was why she was headed to a private meeting with a fellow Nation, far from their diplomats and consuls. Vreni couldn’t really remember the last time she had been asked to a social meeting by another Nation, asked in a way that told her she was free to decline. That and curiosity had made her agree to meet with England, on a hilltop facing the Glarus Alps, away from unwanted observers.

When she reached the appointed meeting spot she looked around the empty plateau in surprise. England was usually just as punctual as she was, used to being governed by the ticking of clocks and the changes of tides. 

Then she spotted him on the far end of the plateau, using a navel telescope to scan the mountain range. She put down her knapsack and walked towards him. “Generally, when other Nations stare so hard at my mountains, they’re trying to find the best way to get an army over them.” Helvetica said lightly, stopping out of England’s reach. He was quiet close to the edge and she didn’t want to startle him into falling.

“No fear,” said England calmly, not startled at all by her arrival. He turned to smile at her as he folded his eye scope. “I realised back in the middle ages that fighting your people was more trouble than it was worth.” He got to his feet and shook Vreni’s hand warmly. “If a few Swiss famers could give crusaders such a thrashing, what chance did my poor army stand?” He spoke with good humour, the still pink scar on his cheek wrinkling.

Vreni squeezed his hand just as warmly. “I suppose I must admit, I wouldn’t be so comfortable meeting with you if I were not so far from the sea and your navy.”

England smiled at the backhanded complement to his strong navy and sat down on a rock Vreni gestured to. “My men do their duty, just as yours do, I’m sure.”

Vreni just smiled as she recovered her knapsack and sat down as well. Out came a bottle of wine she had been hording for a special occasion and some cheese she had cut before hand. She handed England a wooden cup and filled it with white wine, did the same for herself and settled down to admire the view.

The mountains looked especially beautiful that day, with another Nation to sit next to and ask harmless questions about them. Vreni had always felt deeply towards her mountains. Throughout her history they had alternatively kept her safe and held her back, providing a daunting obstacle to would-be invaders but being almost impossible to grow enough crops to survive on in their soil. They had kept her safe in the past, but they kept her poor as well.

“So no one has ever climbed that tall one?” Asked Arthur pointing to a peak in the far distance, looming over its neighbours.”

“I don’t think so,” said Vreni shrugging her shoulders. “Why would they? It’s easier to just go around it.”

“Just to see if you could,” he said in a soft voice. “Just to say you did it, that you managed to conquer it.”

“Mountains aren’t people, England,” said Vreni, _or Nations_ she added mentally. “They don’t care what you do. They were here before Rome drew breath and they will stay here no matter what happens to me. They just sometimes happen to be useful.”

“Like the Channel, then?” England said softly. Vreni looked over to him in surprise.

“I know I like to go on about how I rule the seas,” he said gesturing about with his mug. “But I don’t pretend to myself,” he huffed and took a deep swig. “Time after time, the only thing standing between myself and an invasion force was the tide and a favourable wind,” he gave a bitter smile. “I know you can’t conquer Mother Nature, Verne. But it’s nice to pretend sometimes.”

Vreni nibbled on a piece of cheese thoughtfully. This was a bit too philosophical for her liking. She had come to discuses mutual trade, not wax poetic about quirks of geography. Yet it was nice to talk to another like this, someone who knew what it was like to have to put your faith into your very land, not just your people.

“This is very nice wine,” said England finishing off his mug, “Is it available in the black market?”

“It could be, yes,” said Vreni demurely, turning to get another piece of cheese. “It could even, one day, be available legally as well.”

“One day. If a certain frog and his short Corsican were to be busy elsewhere?” England smiled as he took a bite of cheese, then frowned as he considered the taste.

_Short?_ “Exactly,” Vreni poured more wine for them both.

England swallowed and reached for more. “But that would violate the terms of both our treaties with him.” He reached up to trace the path of a long healed scar to the ear. “Diplomats put a lot of work into that damned treaty; they will need more incentive than trading benefits before they break it.”

“More incentive?” Asked Vreni, tightening her grip on her mug. “What about the fact that he’s violating the terms of a treaty he forced me to agree to? He said my government would be free to rule themselves, but France blocks any measures I take to try and improve my situation.”

“My people are almost as tired of war as yours undoubtedly are. And the prime minister won’t declare without knowing the people will back him. As heartless as it sounds, mere economy problems won’t endear you to my people. Something more visible has to be done first.”

“Visible,” repeated Vreni through clenched teeth. “Mere economy problems.”

“I don’t mean to insult you or your struggles,” England held up a hand to stem her anger. “I know that all of Europe suffers, you especially. But it will do no one any good if I restart the war half heartedly. All of my people have to be behind any action I take,” he frowned. “Especially now that I have Ireland’s people to support as well.”

Vreni sighed and rubbed her forehead, telling herself that at least England was being honest and straightforward with her. “Do you have any good news for me?”

“Yes.” England perked up. “While I can’t deal with France on the battlefield, it looks like I will be able to deal with you openly, within a month or so. A group of dignitaries are getting ready to leave London and visit your lovely capital. Apparently there’s unrest among the forest provinces?”

“There’s always unrest among the forest cantons,” assured Vreni, going back to her wine. “They’ll settle once it’s made clear I truly am outside of France’s influence and the return of some autonomy.” She shrugged her shoulders. “The Constitution is not going anywhere but it can be adapted to suit us all.”

“That’s the spirit.” England raised his mug in a salute. “You never know what you can get away with, unless you try. Now,” and he sat up a bit straighter, looking worried. “My information channels are not what they once were. And I’ve been hearing some uncomfortable rumours about the Germanies. Do you know anything about it?”

Helvetica sighed and nodded her head sadly. She pushed back thoughts of trade and economy for now, and started to tell England how Holy Roman’s suffering was almost at an end.

 

**September 1802, Schwyz**

The Helvetic Republic stumbled out of the meeting hall on unsteady legs. Behind her the assembly dissolved further into arguments and chaos, some officials getting up to leave in disgust. The Bern delegation walked past without any acknowledgement of her, talking together in hushed voices about their planned return to sovereignty.

_Had they always treated me that way?_ She tried to remember, holding on to the wall to keep steady. No, each canton had ruled themselves differently, stood slightly apart from one another. But they had always banded together in the face of a crisis, had always acknowledged her as their Nation and true representative of their culture. Bern had never outright denied her authority, called her France’s creature to her face before.

That more than anything else had driven her from the room, too shocked and enraged to even muster a decent punch to the speaker’s nose. France’s creature, as if she could be around him without her skin crawling. As if being with him did not make her heart ache for home. A home he had brought to ruin with soldiers and taxes and forbidden trade.

The Legislative Council had said there was unrest throughout her land, she had felt it as it gained ground, separating into two separate camps of contention. But she never thought it would get to this point, the point of overthrowing her acknowledged government and causing them to flee the capital. France had created the Helvetic Republic but it was the only thing holding the cantons together and keeping France’s armies out. The Legislative Council had been the only thing keeping her going, keeping her country running.

Vreni took a deep breath, steadied herself and walked back into the room, hiding any trace of her shock. She reached her seat just as a speaker recommended going to France for assistance. That set her off completely.

“We do not need his help,” she shouted at him. “I do not need France’s help to manage my own people.” The hall finally fell silent as she said the words she had been holding onto for months and years. “I would rather see myself fall apart completely than invite that monster back onto my land. We will continue with this meeting and we will reach a compromise.” She took her seat and nodded to the leader of the Centralists, asking him to take the floor once more.

The situation could still be salvaged, even without Bern. She just needed to keep her head.

 

**October 1802, Aarburg**

It was quiet that afternoon, had been quiet most of the day in fact. The only noise to be heard on the hilltop, apart from the soft sounds of nature, was the metallic ring of Vreni sharping her halberd. 

It was one of her older pole arms, though careful maintenance had seen it hold up well to old age. She did have newer, more refined pole arms in her collection: ones with blades that were more elaborate, made with better wood shafts. But it had felt right to take this weapon, the one she had carried with her throughout the 11th century when she barely had a stretch of dirt and a village to call her own.

She knew how to weld the halberd as if it were a part of her, knew its weight and heft and reach like she knew her battle rough hands. Knew how to thrust and cut and block with it like she knew how to speak. She had been fighting before she had more than one language to speak. Been killing before she learnt how to trade. It was a comfort to return to a simpler state of mind.

Satisfied with the sharpness she brought out her old war flag and started to polish the axe blade, making it gleam. Stealth would play no part in the coming battle. If the flag had been a bit smaller, she may even have tied it to the pole, brought a bit of frivolity to the atmosphere. Instead she carefully folded the flag, red over white, and put it in her coat pocket, then settled into complete stillness. Waiting before battle was also something she had been doing for centuries.

It was evening before she spotted Frances bright red and white uniform at the foot of the hill, the sound of him muttering under his breath easily reaching her trained ears.

“There you are,” Francis gasped, leaning on his knees to breathe heavily. “I’ve been climbing for hours, looking for you.” He straightened up and smiled at her triumphantly. “The rebels have been dealt with. It’s safe for you to return home, _mon trognon_.”

“You planned this,” said Vreni calmly, not moving from her seat. “You planned on the uprising happening.”

“Well I had to, love,” said Francis airily, waving a hand. “It was the only way to be sure we drew out every traitor among your people.” His eyes finally adjusted to the twilight enough to notice the halberd at her side. “I haven’t seen that in a long while. Are you out of bullets again?”

“No.” Vreni stood slowly, moving the staff to hold with both hands. “I just have more experience with blades than guns in this situation.”

“Situation?” France narrowed his eyes, realising her meaning. “Helvetica, put that down before you do something we will both regret.”

“I regret a lot of things I’ve done recently. The most significant being how I went with you without a fight the last time you invaded,” said Vreni, positioning her feet firmly. “I suppose I should be grateful I have a chance to try another course of action.”

“I did not invade you, I liberated you.” France began to reach for his sabre. “And I am getting extremely tired of children not understanding and wilfully disobeying –“

“How can one not understand yet wilfully disobey?” Injected Helvetica cutting off his rant. “For that matter, who did you liberate me from? I had no king, not much in the way of royals. If I did not like how one ruler worked, I just moved onto the next canton and the next ruler.” She turned her blade to face him and readied herself.

“I tire of these questions, Helvetica,” said France a hint of steel in his voice. “It’s making me quite angry.”

Vreni let her mouth stretch into a mockery of a smile. “Good.” She moved, a rush of adrenaline and endorphins driving everything else from her mind. For once, she knew exactly what she was doing. 

 

**December 1802, Hague**

Cape Colony opened the front door, took one look at the Helvetic Republic’s face and screamed. Both her colonisers came running, which confirmed Vreni’s information that England was using the excuse of shared colonies to stay illegally with the Batavian Republic. 

“Verne? What on earth are you doing here?” England pulled her in and shut the door behind her. “How did you even find me? Were you sent?” He ushered her into an empty sitting room, leaving Batavia to try and calm the still screaming Cape. 

“I’m sorry about Hope. War broke out at her borders again and she’s on edge. She went after Portugal with a knife last month.” He indicated to an arm chair and Verne collapsed into it thankfully.

“No one knows I’m here” she said, talking as loudly as her bruised throat would allow. “My government is too busy scrambling and sucking up to the First Elected to worry about me.” Gingerly she raised her arm and removed her hat. “Guadeloupe is covering for me with France. As far as anyone knows, I’m still in a coma.” And she felt like she still should be in one. She had travelled by carriage as a civilian, spending most of the journey passed out in pain and exhaustion. “I wanted to show you something.” As briskly as her injuries would allow she removed her coat and shirt. “And you should probably know, my name isn’t really Verne.”

England stared at her torso, eyes flickering between her unhealed wounds and barely covered breasts. His eyebrows moved erratically, as his face changed from surprise to concern and back again. Finally he settled on concern, hissing through clenched teeth at mottled skin and a gun shot wound that had almost popped its stitches on the road. 

“I brought some official accounts and reports,” she said trying to keep her voice light as he hissed again. “But do you think this could count as a visible violation of the treaty?”

England reached out a sea roughened hand to gently trace the pattern of a bruise, forming the shape of the butt of a gun. “Yes my dear fellow-… my dear. I think it would.” His eyes were soft even as his other hand clenched into a fist

“Oh. Good.” Vreni stopped fighting the waves of exhaustion and pain that pulsed over her. “There’s a file in my coat pocket on the-“ Fatigue rose up to claim her and she fell back against her chair, the pain of the movement fading out into sweet oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. In the early 1800’s South Africa would still be seen as very young, because the Xhosa, Pedi, Zulu and all the other native African Nations of Southern Africa were still very much independent, separate and not happy about the fact that space is starting to run out. The 3rd of 9 Frontier Wars was going on and most Portuguese visitors were slavers. The fact that that serious conflict between the new English settlers and the more established Boer (Dutch) settlers would soon start on top of everything else, all adds up to a very twitchy Cape Colony. 
> 
> 2\. I’ve glossed over the Stecklikrieg civil war but here are the bare facts: France finally withdrew its troops from the Helvetic Rep. Most of the central cities and rural areas thought it would be a good idea to go back to being a loosely joined confederation, not a centralised republic. There were also the usual issues of religion, language and inequality, plus a huge debt that someone needed to pay. The Helvetic Government tried to fight back against the opposing internal forces and was quickly overthrown by rebels. This happened in the space of a year.  
> Meanwhile France been watching all this very carefully, blocking other countries attempts to aid Switzerland, especially England. Even when the Swiss ambassador directly asked for help Napoleon refused, wanting Switzerland to be completely incapable of running itself before stepping in to save the day.
> 
> 4\. It is possible that France, in his delusions, did really think England would be willing to abide the treaty between them and not declare war the second he gathered enough money and arms. But England always planed to re-enter the war, even if he had to do it all on his own. The black market, which played a huge role in some countries being able to stay solvent, was almost completely under English control.
> 
> 5\. England and Switzerland shared a close bond from the 1800 onwards. The English vehemently objected to France’s treatment of Switzerland and wrote poems and books against it. The English were also the ones to start Switzerland’s mountain tourist industry.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes
> 
> 1\. Saint Nikolaus of Flüe was a hermit who in the 14th Century mediated between rural cantons and the cities that wanted to join the Confederation, averting civil war.
> 
> 2\. mon trognon: literally my apple core, similar to my cutie pie.
> 
> 3\. From what I understand the Swiss Confederation was already a hot bed of riots and insurrections before the French Revolution even started. The industrial revolution and enlightenment meant people were making more money and thinking deep thoughts, but the political system remained conservative and feudalist.  
> When the French Revolution was successful, everything was kicked into overdrive and many cantons had (relatively) bloodless revolutions of their own. While France skimmed around the edges annexing the odd outlying territory and biding it’s time.  
> Then Vaud asked for France’s help in gaining independence from Bern. By the time the French army got there Vaud had already been declared a republic… But France went ahead and invaded Bern anyway, took over the centuries old confederation and turned the whole Swiss Confederation into a republic. The Swiss were too disjointed to put up a proper fight. Some were actually happy about the new leadership, some did not think much would change and some were expecting help form a certain neighboring Duchy… Austria that was your cue…


End file.
